


All you had to do was ask

by fitz_y



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Foreplay, Multi, Polyamory, bodyheat, threesomes that are not as carefully negotiated as they could be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-12
Updated: 2012-01-12
Packaged: 2017-10-29 09:29:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/318396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fitz_y/pseuds/fitz_y
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Eames makes up specious arguments about body heat in order to con Arthur and Ariadne into a threesome. They are not fooled.</p>
            </blockquote>





	All you had to do was ask

“I don’t know if this will work.” Eames’ fingers played over his lips and stubble as he stood in the living room, hands on his hips, glancing back and forth between the doors to the two narrow bedrooms.

“Of course it will,” Arthur snapped, just barely managing to restrain himself from chucking something hard and pointy—not his hunting knife, maybe just a butter knife—at Eames’ head. “Now just shut the fuck up and stop whining so we can get the fire started and go to bed. I haven’t slept in thirty-six hours.” He dumped his duffel bag by one of the bedroom doors, removed his overcoat, and paced over to the wood stove. But he soon changed directions when he spotted Ari climbing up on a slim windowsill. “Ari, what the hell are you doing?” he called, sprinting over to where she was now perched on it, fingers clutched to the top of the window.

“Just trying to close this window; it’s fallen down a bit so it’s open at the top, letting in all the frozen air,” she answered easily, as if she weren’t practically dangling from the ceiling. “So, Eames,” she called, blissfully ignoring Arthur’s huffing as he reached up to spot her, “why do you think it won’t work?”

“Well, you do realize we are about a hundred kilometers from the nearest _highway_ , let alone civilization, if you can even call a town with a feral name like Bear Creek that.”

“That is the point of a finding a good hideout, wouldn’t you say? Getting away from everyone else? Hiding in the wilderness?” Ariadne shot back without turning her head, all while wiggling her butt into Arthur’s grasp where he was attempting to spot her.

“Yes, but it’s thirty below outside,” Eames whined. “What will we do for warmth?”

Without warning, Ari leaned back, dropping her weight against Arthur and sliding to the ground. He grunted, but caught her, shifting his arms smoothly so they banded around her narrow chest; he tugged her body weight against him, maddeningly and instantly distracted by the press of her ass against his thighs, the way her hair smelled like snow and frozen air, the soft give of her flesh under her sweater.

“You should get that fire started, Arthur,” she hummed as her fingers played over his where they clutched at her chest.

“I said, what will we do for warmth?” Eames’s voice, petulant yet cocky, sounded behind Arthur’s ear and he dropped his hands from Ari and spun on him.

“I don’t know, Eames? Use a fucking blanket? Help me light the goddamn fire, would you? Why do you think Ariadne spent two hours chopping firewood at our last hideout?”

Eames shrugged. “To work on her upper body strength? She is looking a bit scrawny.”

Ariadne seemed unbothered by Eames’ retort; laughing loudly, she pushed away from Arthur’s side, crossed the small space of the living room and knelt down on the rug in front of the sturdy cast iron stove bolted down next to the wall.

“Hey Arthur, hand me those logs we brought in from the trunk,” she called. “And Eames, you snatched a pile of newspapers at the last rest stop, bring them over, would you?”

Arthur obligingly passed her the logs as well as the brown paper bag of bark and twigs they’d collected for kindling. Eames, however, just crossed his arms in his pouffy camouflage parka, faux-fur-lined hood still draping low over his brow, and glared at the two of them.

“Is that wood stove really going to heat this whole place?” he asked. “I do know a thing or two about thermodynamics and it seems too large a cabin for the juice that old stove is going to give off.”

“The wood stove should heat the whole cabin, Eames,” Ariadne explained earnestly, as though Eames truly didn’t understand, and not as though he was trying to get a rise out of them by acting like an eight-year old. “Now unpack those newspapers for me before I hit you over the head with one of these logs.”

He sighed and finally complied, handing her the papers with a flourishing bow before sinking into the sagging arm chair by the stove with a grunt.

“It’s not like we’re in a plywood shack,” Ariadne chirped as she began knotting and balling the newspapers and stuffing them around the logs she’d laid in the stove. Arthur joined her, sitting cross-legged on the thin rug; it did nothing to keep the cold from stealing up through the fabric of his jeans. “After my aunt passed away and left me this place,” Ari said, “I used to stay up here with my ex-girlfriend all the time over Christmas to hide out from my parents. It gets nippy in the middle of the night after the fire in the wood stove goes out, but you’ll be fine with a few blankets.” She lit a match and began to set the paper aflame, orange and blue reflections of fire dashing across her smooth profile.

“Well, see, that’s my point exactly.” Eames crossed his arms over his chest again and retreated farther back into his parka hood. “You stayed here with your ex-girlfriend. You had her body heat to keep you warm. And tonight you’ll have Arthur’s. But who will I have to keep me warm? Who will prevent me from freezing to death in this cold, barren wilderness?”

“Freezing to death?” Arthur repeated drily. “Really Eames?”

“I’m not saying that we can’t stay here, but I don’t think splitting up into separate bedrooms is a good idea. We should all sleep right here in a big pile under blankets by the fire, you know, to preserve our body heat.”

“That’s ridiculous, Eames. The bedrooms are fine,” Arthur ground out. He had barely had a second alone with Ariadne since this whole debacle—a botched job, clients out for blood—had started and he would not let Eames deprive him of that now, when all he wanted more than anything was to lose himself in the flavor of her skin, her mouth, her sex, feel her hands everywhere, fingers curled around his dick, pressing down on his abs, prying apart his thighs, teasing lightly against his prostate. He bit down against the swell of frustration in his throat and turned from the fire to berate Eames.

But he stopped himself, speechless as he watched Ariadne. She was stalking over to where Eames sat swaddled in his parka, her face lit up with that dangerous smile she used when she had abruptly decided she wanted something and she wanted it right the fuck now.

She turned her head, locking gazes with Arthur before climbing onto Eames’ lap, straddling his legs, knees on the outside edge of each of his tree-trunk thighs. Arthur stood and watched them, planting his hands in his pockets as he felt his world tilt slightly on its axis. He had an inkling where this might be headed, and he had no idea how he felt about that.

“Really, Eames, if you want to get into my boyfriend’s pants, all you have to do is ask. There’s no need for these specious arguments about body heat,” Ariadne said flippantly. “You’ve been staring at his ass since we went on the run in Vancouver. And that was over two weeks back.”

Eames let his hood fall back and he tilted his head up to smirk at Ariadne.

“Close quarters will do that to a man, my dear. I can’t help it if your boyfriend wears jeans that seem better suited for a twelve-year-old girl than a grown man. How does he stuff that tight little arse in there anyway?”

“Hey,” Arthur said, indignant. But neither turned to look at him.

Ari laid the fingers of her free hand on Eames’ bicep where his arms were still crossed over his chest. “I said,” she spoke slowly now, drawing each word out deliberately, “you _can_ just ask my permission. And it’s not as tight as you might expect for a guy who hasn’t been with a man for three years.”

Despite the icy air that had blown them into the cabin, Arthur felt his cheeks flush and he suddenly went very still. Holy fuck, she was really doing this now.

He could never say no to anything Ariadne wanted. Oh God, even if it was Eames with his smirking fat blow job lips and his big rough hands and the stupid delight he took in pushing and poking and prodding Arthur and never ever ever letting up. And, fucking hell, what would that kind of focus and attention feel like on Arthur’s skin?

Eames coughed and Arthur found he had been staring at a circle of discolored wood on the floor. He looked up to meet Eames’ gaze as it tried to bore a hole in him. Yet there was something soft, too, hesitant, in Eames’ gray-blue eyes.

“Ari,” Eames spoke without so much as blinking or looking away from Arthur, “do I have your permission to get into your boyfriend’s too-tight jeans?” And then he did look away, licked his lips, and leered back up at Ari, just as all Arthur’s blood shot down to his groin. “And into yours, too, Ari?”

“Arthur?” She slid out of the Eames’ lap and stood to lay a cold hand on Arthur’s cheek. He shivered, but smiled at her. They’d done this before but always with men and women whom Arthur had carefully vetted beforehand, and never with anyone who was such a loose canon, someone they both knew so well, a mutual colleague. He stared into her wide face, her brown-eyed gaze that could only be described as hopeful and hesitant

“Oh fuck.” This could be the best decision ever or the dumbest. Yet . . . it wasn’t like they had anything better to do as they holed up here, waiting for that huge fucking mess they’d made to blow over. He dove forward, catching Ari’s lips with his, crashing his body into hers, sliding his arm up her back until it wrapped tightly around her shoulders. She grunted greedily, pressed her hot little body against his, angled her head so they could taste more of each other, and plunged her fingers into his hair, tugging at it to move his head where she wanted it.

With all their focus on not leaving a trail, and outsmarting their pursuers, they’d barely had any time to sleep or eat, let alone fuck. His whole body twitched like a live wire. He pulled away and took a deep breath. “Yeah, okay. Why the hell not.”

“Oh that’s a regular golden seal of approval, Arthur. We’ll have to see if we can do better than that,” Eames goaded as he rose from the chair, his voice a delicious low hum as he stepped into their space and lay a suggestive warm hand on Arthur’s hip, and then the other on Ari’s.

“God, I will shut you up once and for all,” Arthur ground out, leaning in, not sure if he wanted to punch him or just stop his mouth with tongue and teeth.

“You know,” Ari said, slipping into the breath of space left between Eames and him, twining one arm around Arthur’s waist and steadying herself against Eames’ arm with the other, darting forward to kiss her way up Eames’ neck.“It’s so boring to do it under the covers.” She spoke directly into Eames’ skin and Arthur went achingly hard at the sight of her pink tongue, her wet lips against Eames’ stubble. “If you help me build the fire up, Eames, then you and I can strip Arthur naked in front of it together.”

Eames’ full lips quirked into a filthy smile. “Now that’s what I call creative thinking, Ari.”

For once, Arthur agreed with him.


End file.
